


Game-Sweat-Match

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, They have sex while Alfred plays video games, UKUS, Very slight exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Alfred's just trying to play some video games with his friends.Arthur is playing games of his own.When you're both incorrigible perverts, really, everybody wins.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	Game-Sweat-Match

A lethal combination of too much food, too many blankets, and a space heater set too high had Arthur feeling delightfully cozy. He’d just woken up from his first ever Thanksgiving nap. It was only 4 PM, though it was getting dark outside, which only added to his relaxed mood. And they’d have more food in a few hours when they went to Alfred’s brother’s house. To think, he’d been dreading his introduction to this American holiday.

He located the remote in his cocoon of blankets, flipping on the TV as he idly wondered where his boyfriend was. Nothing good was on. He’d have to get up soon to pee. Shame.

When he left the en-suite ready to return to his sanctuary, Alfred was perched at the foot of the bed, fiddling with the remote and half-smiling at him, eyes on the television screen.

“You’ve been asleep for-ev-er, dude. I couldn’t play my new game ‘cause Dad was watching football!” he pouted, baby-blues leaving the screen to look at Arthur accusingly.

Arthur just slipped by, mussing Alfred’s hair affectionately before climbing back into the bed. He scrolled through a book on his phone, trying not to drift off again as Alfred fussed and huffed with his game console. He finally plopped down again, secured his headset and began to tip-tap away on the controller.

“Yeah, yeah I know I was supposed to be on earlier, but like, I’m back home for Turkey Day and my parents treat me like I’m still a teen!”

“You bloody act like one, trying to commandeer the TV for games…” Arthur murmured, though Alfred couldn’t hear him over the sound of the game and his teammates’ shouting.

In their two years together, Arthur had grown quite good at tuning out the ridiculous murmurs and curses which streamed from Alfred’s mouth as he gamed. He returned to his book, but the snug feeling was still dragging him under. He’d need to distract himself better to stay awake.

He started by shoving his cold toes beneath Alfred’s rear, but his boyfriend had a good 30 pounds on him and ludicrous concentration skills where games were involved. He tip-tapped one-handed, the other grabbing both of Arthur’s ankles and yanking him sideways, causing him to half-fall off the bed with a snort.

Once he righted himself, he settled for gripping the other from behind, resting his forehead on the nobs at the top of Alfred’s spine before settling his head on his shoulder to stare disinterestedly at the drab grey color pallet of whatever shooter Alfred was playing.

Nestled against Alfred like this, hands sliding beneath his hoodie to caress his stuffed belly, the cozy feeling increased tenfold, leaving Arthur with only one choice if he were to avoid getting sappy.

Long fingers slipped the hoodie down a tan shoulder, and Arthur set to work, kissing lightly at first to test the waters—Alfred squirmed and smiled, but didn’t protest—good. He nipped him, once, twice, before sucking lightly. Alfred giggled.

“Nothing. Arthur’s being funny. Get off me.” The last of that was meant for Arthur, he assumed, as Alfred nudged his head away with a shrug. He shifted back and folded his legs criss-crossed beneath himself.

Undeterred, Arthur slipped behind him once again to work on the back of his neck, moving to his right side just the way Alfred liked. His boyfriend scrunched his head and neck together to block him, but straightened up quickly to curse and jab buttons wildly, the screen flashing.

“Fuck, fuck, it’s ‘cause Arthur’s messing with me—no, he totally is.” Alfred tossed a glare at Arthur, who had sprawled out behind him, the picture of innocence. A countdown timer was ticking away on the screen.

“Whatever, yeah, just message me when you’re back on.” Alfred pitched his headset to the side, fluffing up blond locks haphazardly. He crashed on top of Arthur, who oofed and flailed a moment before the other propped himself on an elbow to glare at him.

“Mr. Kirkland. Can you find something else to do when you’re bored? You’re gonna get me kicked out of my squad.” The pout was back, accompanied by a firm grip on Arthur’s wrist, stopping the hand which had been wandering up Alfred’s thigh.

“I’m not bored. I just want you. Just play the game later.” The other wrist, attached to the hand groping Alfred’s ass a moment before, was now pinned. Alfred loomed over him, face beginning to redden. Point.

“I can’t, babe! They’ve been waiting for me to get online, and it’s super hard for us to get together to play. Gotta do it on the holiday.” Alfred sat up, and Arthur immediately slid his hands up and down his chest. “We can cuddle later, ‘kay?” Alfred gripped the wayward hands once more, leaning in to plant smooches on Arthur’s forehead, eyelids and chin.

Point in Alfred’s favor, then. Round 2.

Arthur waited for the other to get situated once more, headset in place and match loading, before sliding behind him and placing his hands over Alfred’s.

“Babe, the fuck—”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Nuh-uh, not interest—yeah, hey, I’m back, let’s go.” Alfred squirmed against him, freeing his hand to press the mute button on his headset. “Art, for real, knock it off? I’m trying to play.”

“So am I.” Arthur replied, fingers skimming off the other’s hands to rest on his upper arms, kneading at the muscles there appreciatively. “Why don’t you let me have my fun while you have yours?”

Glaring suspiciously at the other, Alfred unmuted the headset with a huff. “Yeah, I can hear you, I’m readying up now—I got it, I got it.” He slipped his still-narrowed eyes to the screen, but there was a tell-tale tilt to his lips as he spoke. “What game are you tryna play, Arthur?” he asked in an innocent tone.

Arthur hummed, pulling back to kneel behind him and slip his shirt up as far as it would go without moving his arms. He leaned low, placing a series of wet kisses up his back as Alfred shivered, muscles moving subtly with the motion of continued button presses.

He could just barely hear the sound of Alfred’s game through the headset as he learned close to his ear. “Never you mind. Focus on winning your game and I’ll focus on winning mine.”

“What’s the win condition?” Alfred answered with a smirk. “Huh? No, dummy, I’m not—I was talking to Arthur, I know what we’re doing. Wha—fuck off, Gil, I’ll talk to my boyfriend if I want, we all listen to you yelling at your dogs!”

The ranting continued on, and while Alfred was distracted Arthur managed to gently pull him further back on the bed, legs straightened out in front of him. He shimmied to the foot of the bed himself, making sure not to block the television, which would certainly increase the difficulty level, if not get him an immediate game over.

He started working Alfred’s ridiculous fuzzy socks off his feet, smoothing his hands up the length of his right foot and quickly checking for lint before he kissed the arch. He continued to the left, massaging both feet simultaneously as he glanced up to gauge the other’s reaction—Alfred was smiling sweetly, though his eyes were glued to the screen. Good.

Dipping down again, Arthur kissed the base of Alfred’s toes, smirking at his boyfriend’s giggle. He layered a few more smooches on both feet, listening to Alfred hum happily. Now that the other seemed more relaxed—and had dipped into his usual mindless, slack-jawed gaming stupor, which _really_ shouldn’t have been attractive, what the hell—Arthur could get started.

He continued his massage, working his way up Alfred’s calves, up to just above his knees—he could go no further without blocking the screen. Alfred was fully in the zone now, his brows lowered and his hands gripping the controller so hard it creaked worryingly. That wouldn’t do at all.

Arthur began to gently pull him back toward his original position at the foot of the bed, gripping Alfred’s rear once it was in reach and scooting him the rest of the way. The duvet squeaked comically and Alfred wobbled to the left with a giggle, only to settle back down with a frown and lean forward to thumb more viciously at his controller.

“Don’t tell me to cover you, _you_ cover _me_ , that’s how this works, because I’m not a suicidal— _Kiku,_ do not cover him. Do not. Do not!”

Arthur hurt a chorus of amused voices as Alfred pulled off his headset to whine, finally taking his eyes away from the screen to look at Arthur.

“My friends suck.”

Arthur just quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe I should just play your game instead?” Alfred winked at him, leaning down for a deep kiss—which Arthur accepted readily.

“That won’t do, I’m afraid.” Arthur whispered against his lips once they parted. He slipped a hand into Alfred’s hair and smiled slowly. “You see, my game is dependent on you playing yours. For as long as you _can,_ anyway.”

While Arthur was talking, Alfred’s eyebrows had been steadily rising until they’d disappeared behind the fringe of his yellow-blond hair. He regarded Arthur that way, betraying nothing, before splotches of red seeped into his cheeks and his lips twitched into a smirk.

“Perv.”

“So you’ve said, many times.”

“It’s true.”

“That’s not a no.”

Alfred hooked his discarded headset with his toes and kept his gaze locked to Arthur’s as he settled it back onto his head, then picked up his controller. “It sure wasn’t. Do your worst.”

Arthur tilted his head obligingly, and Alfred rejoined the match, grumbling half-hearted swears at his jeering playmates.

Round 3, then.

Arthur repeated a familiar prayer to whoever had invented sweatpants—Alfred called them joggers, but they were bloody sweatpants—and began to eagerly divest Alfred of his.

Luckily, Alfred didn’t prevent this, automatically lifting his hips without the slightest break in his concentration as Arthur worked them down his legs and over his feet. The underwear would prove a greater challenge, but that was future Arthur’s problem. Current Arthur set to exploring the expanse of skin newly afforded to him, easing Alfred’s legs apart and kissing at his inner thighs, up to the edge of his ridiculous neon pink boxer-briefs, then down the opposite leg.

Alfred shifted his weight forward and barked a command into his headset. He was sort of squatting rather unattractively now, but Arthur chose to ignore it and slithered his way up and onto the bed again.

This time, he maneuvered his way under Alfred’s hoodie with greater gusto, sliding one hand lovingly across the firm plane of his stomach as the other skirted over his collarbone, both meeting at his chest to gently toy with a nipple.

That finally elicited a reaction—a little groan, too quiet for the headset to pick up, and a squirm. Arthur was no longer keeping score but he had to be in the lead.

He decided to drop the game metaphor entirely and drew his hands out, wetting his fingertips before returning to his task, rubbing and circling and pinching in earnest. Alfred straightened his back, pressing further into him and sighing out a held breath.

There was a pause as Arthur saw the screen go dark and a loading icon appear—Alfred met his eyes coolly, a hint of red still present in his cheeks, and they kissed briefly before the screen lit again, and Alfred turned back to the game.

Immediately after, Arthur realizes the missed opportunity to just get the damned hoodie off, but he makes up for this mistake by grabbing hold of Alfred’s chest again and squeezing hard, burying his face into the other’s neck to attack him with teeth and tongue at the same time.

“Ah! Ah-um, uh, sorry, heh, got a jump scare when this enemy came out—no _you’re_ a pussy.”

Arthur stifled a laugh with a final bite to Alfred’s abused neck, then leaned away to assess the situation. He hadn’t really planned this far ahead—he’d thought Alfred wouldn’t let him pester him like this, and he still wasn’t sure how far Alfred would let him go.

He didn’t have to consider the situation for long. Alfred poked the mute button again and looked back at him impatiently, and Arthur recognized those glassy eyes and that needy, petulant expression. What a brat. Arthur was suddenly hard as a goddamn diamond.

“Is that it? That’s all you wanted?” It was a challenge, and Arthur rose to his knees, pressing himself against Alfred and taking in the sight of him, all marked up domestic goodness with a half-mast erection. He kissed him deeply, hearing a lot of clamor from the speakers still on Alfred’s head.

“No, it isn’t.” Arthur finally replied.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Well, what do you want then?”

“I’d rather like to fuck you, dear.” Alfred’s eyelashes fluttered, and he suddenly unmuted the headset to deliver an insult, and a promise to be back to the game shortly.

“Do I still get to play my game?” He lifted the controller, as if Arthur wouldn’t know which game he meant.

“Do you _want_ to play your game? Want to try keeping yourself alive without cluing anyone in on what we’re doing?” Arthur shifted into Alfred’s lap, looping his arms around him and grinding down briefly. “Do you want me to fuck you while your friends are listening to your every word? Try to keep quiet when I make you cum, so your fellow idiots don’t realize you’re getting reamed in real life too?”

Alfred squawked indignantly. “My KDR is—”

“I don’t know what that is and I don’t care. Do you want to have sex right now? Tell the truth.” He could scarcely believe it. Christmas wasn’t for another month after all, but if Alfred was offering…

“Uh, _duh_ , yes, one hundred percent. I get to play video games _and_ get laid? Hell yes.”

…then Arthur was definitely taking this opportunity. 

With the matter completely settled, Arthur left Alfred’s lap and Alfred unmuted his headphones and began to load back into a match, drumming his naked toes on the carpet as if he hadn’t just agreed to be debauched while on a call with his mates.

Arthur silently reminded himself to start saving up for a ring.

He returned to his place behind him, leaning over to tap his knees and mouth his request against his jaw.

Alfred settled onto his knees as he’d asked, then down onto his elbows as well when Arthur pushed him. His eyes never left the screen, and he was still zapping away at whatever-the-hell while propped up on all fours. Arthur regarded him appreciatively as he rummaged in their overnight bag for the lube and a condom. 

Setting the necessities aside, Arthur dipped down beneath him—but not before pulling those monstrous pink undies away, thank god—and he pulled Alfred’s hoodie up and his body down, down lower so he could make up for his earlier roughness, tonguing and sucking at each dusky nipple and feeling Alfred rub his hips deliciously against him in approval.

“N-no, that map is—you’re thinking about the catacombs.” Alfred huffed above his head, overly loud even for him. Arthur smirked against his skin and pushed him up again so he could slide down further, further, until he felt the headboard under his feet and had to bend his knees—but he was right under Alfred’s rigid cock, which was in the perfect position to take into his mouth—which he did, abruptly. He managed to fit half of it in his mouth in one go, and when Alfred’s knees faltered on either side of his head, another half inch slid in, Arthur moaning encouragingly in response.

“Sss. S-ah. Ss. Ss-uh. Uh-wah, um, hold on, I grabbed the wrong—yeah I know, it’s the wrong thing, I’m working on it!” Alfred’s voice had climbed up an octave, and he bit off another hiss as Arthur pumped him in, out, in, out, his hands massaging his thighs and his ass and his balls, pulling him down closer so Arthur could take him in near completely.

Though Arthur couldn’t see him, he felt Alfred go boneless and silent, no more button-mashing or taunting coming from above. He swallowed around him once, then released him to ask if he was alright, but Alfred snapped to attention again, muttering some excuse into his microphone in an even voice.

Arthur took him back into his mouth and managed to blindly grope his way to the lube, coating his fingers as Alfred began to gently rock his hips above him, wanting more, always wanting more.

He’d give him more—two fingers danced over his opening and then slid inside with relative ease, as they’d not had much sleep the night before—what was it about a strange bed that made Arthur so horny? He’d have to consider that later—or not, because Alfred was pushing back onto his hand already, and babbling rather stupidly about ammunition in a near-desperate voice.

It was time for a position change, if the twinge in Arthur’s neck was any indication. He disentangled himself, fingers and all, and Alfred cursed—at him or the game, he didn’t know, but the way Alfred was arched and spread for him, he’d guess the former.

“It’s alright, my lovely.” He cooed, draping himself over him to kiss his head, his neck, the part of his lower back not covered by his scrunched-up hoodie, before he parted him and pressed his thumbs against his twitching hole, humming in approval when Alfred choked on his next word.

He managed to get the condom on without getting kicked, and smoothed his hands up and down Alfred’s body in apology for the lapse of touch.

He leaned back against that tan, wanting body and licked the sweat from beneath Alfred’s twitching jaw, admiring the white-knuckled grip he was maintaining on the controller and the steady, droning voice he used to issue a command to a teammate.

“Darling,” he whispered against his cheek, ignoring the annoying press of the plastic headset on his face. “I’m going to fuck you now. Is that alright?”

He knew he was pushing it, but he couldn’t help but tease a little—Alfred tensed up like a snake ready to strike and bit down on his lip, glaring daggers at the television. He’d probably pay for that later, but for now—he gripped himself in one hand, Alfred’s plump rear in the other, and guided himself inside.

He had to draw back so he could let out a groan without giving them both away—he didn’t know how Alfred was faring, but his shoulders were so tense, the muscles of his back were visible even through his sweatshirt. He hung his head loosely as Arthur stretched him out, pulling back smoothly before pressing in again, deeper—then he snapped his head back when Arthur slid all the way in, and Arthur could make out his bottom lip glistening as his mouth sagged open on a wordless shout.

The controller fell to the floor with a soft thud, and Alfred gripped the edge of the mattress as Arthur began to fuck him in earnest. He was well-rested from his nap, full and sated in one way and on his way to being in complete bliss, and he chased his orgasm with efficient, merciless strokes against Alfred’s prostate, snapping his hips hard and fast, the sound of their bodies moving abnormally loud in the absence of their voices.

Alfred lifted one hand from the bed, and Arthur assumed he’d reach for his bouncing, neglected cock, but instead he slammed the mute button and yanked his headset off by the cord, throwing it aside before burying his head into the mattress and moaning deliciously.

Arthur redoubled his efforts, gripping him hard by the sides and falling over him to tug at an earlobe. “Baby, what’s wrong? Aren’t—hah, ah—aren’t you in the middle of a m-match?”

Alfred paused his whimpering to lift his face from the covers and call Arthur a series of colorful names. “M-not. Hah? Sure if I—did I l-lose?”

Arthur squeezed his cock hard in response to that, smothering his cry with a harsh kiss—the headset was gone, but they _were_ in Alfred’s parents house still. He stroked him hard, his own vision narrowing, his thrusts beginning to lose rhythm. “Do you _feel_ like you lost?”

Alfred was too busy coming to respond, dirtying the blanket with his spend—oops, Arthur would be sneaking that into the laundry soon—and Arthur followed quickly after, hips stuttering against his spent lover.

Oh, woah, this was the cozy feeling times _ten thousand._ What a lovely holiday, really.

“We gotta clean that up like _yesterday_.” Alfred groaned in a raw voice, shimmying out from under him and shucking off his hoodie before falling back onto the pillows.

Arthur yawned, scrambling to join him. They cuddled up against the headboard and kissed lazily, Arthur stroking at Alfred’s chest and arms. “I’ll take care of it after another nap.”

“We gotta go to Mattie’s in a couple of hours.” Alfred warned, and Arthur flapped a hand at him in response.

“I’m glad to spend time with your brother’s family, but I can’t believe we’re having _more_ food.”

Alfred just laughed at him. “I’m kinda peckish, honestly.”

“Insatiable.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Arthur just smiled at him, and Alfred kissed his cheek sweetly.

In the silence that followed, Arthur fell into a doze against Alfred’s warm shoulder.

It really was a lovely holiday.

* * *

“Heh. Haha. Dude, guess what?”

Arthur sighed. “What, Alfred?”

“Pfft. Hahaha. The turkey—the turkey isn’t _the only thing to get stuffed—”_

“Shush!”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to say right now.  
> I hope you're okay. I hope to be back writing more again, but I keep breaking promises to myself and you guys, so I'm taking it one day at a time.  
> Still love these boys and you. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're still reading, despite my absences... it means to much to me.


End file.
